Fashion and the Overactive Imagination

News first!  I'll be brief.

Thrilling development #1:  I've just enrolled in a travel writing course through MatadorU.  The course material looks amazing and I've already met some exciting new people!  I've been obsessed with good travel writing since the day I picked up a copy of Norman Lewis's book, Voices of the Old Sea, and fell in love.  My brother-in-law is also enrolled in Matador's travel photography program.

Thrilling development #2:  My latest project has been to produce a fresh new edition of the alphabet book which my mother and I collaborated on so many years ago.  It's coming together.  Look for it soon!

Finally, Stephanie, from the blog Layered Pages, was so kind as to interview me this week.  Thanks Stephanie!

...and now for the real post.

***

I recently stumbled over an article describing how one should dress in the case of a zombie apocalypse. Though the zombie motif is somewhat (translate: really) overdone, I am pleased to see someone taking a practical and imaginative view of fashion.  Said article also led me to examine my reasons for dressing the way I do.

I am of the opinion that clothes should always be comfortable, serviceable, and attractive.  I like to look nice, I like to be comfortable, and I like useful things.  I love pockets.  I also have an overactive imagination, the gift of a firefighting dad who is always analyzing possible emergency scenarios, and a mom who regularly met my remarks about guys I liked with, "He sounds nice, but you know they say Ted Bundy was a really charming man".  (This is not a complaint.  My mom has my eternal gratitude.  She probably saved me from getting into vans with serial killers.)  My parents are also advocates of always having walking shoes handy, the obvious result of driving old cars which had a habit of breaking down in inconvenient locations.  Thanks to their teaching and my own nature, I like to be prepared.  I also freely admit to watching too much Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  This leads to an inordinate amount of thinking, "There could be something supernatural and sinister down there."  Below are the three most important factors I tend to think of when I'm picking out clothes.

1. Flexibility is the most important feature.  Perhaps my ballet training is to blame for this one, but I don't feel comfortable unless I can heave my leg at least past waist level.  Thus, if I wear jeans they are loose-fitting or stretchy, and I'm a huge fan of flared skirts with tights or leggings.  Pencil skirts are the bane of my existence.  In the same way, I don't like shirts or jackets that restrict the movement of my arms.

2. Versatility is key.  Heels are your friends.  They double as weapons.  However, comfort is also important, as you might have to run in them.  Compromise is necessary.  I once saw a movie version of The Three Musketeers where two women pulled long, sharp hairpins out of their hair and dueled with them.  I remember nothing else about the movie, but that touch was genius.

3. If you get slightly tangled in it getting into a car, you'll tie yourself in knots fighting for your life in a dark alley.  Certain fashion fads confuse me, especially those involving lots of hanging things, be it fringe or what have you.  I don't want to struggle with my own clothing.  I'm clumsy enough without making it worse.

To clarify, I don't make a habit out of getting into fights in dark alleys, but I take comfort in the idea that if I ever did, I'd be prepared...and you know, if the Zombie Apocalypse does happen, my husband did get me a machete.

Chewelah in the Spring: Earth and Inspiration

I took a walk through town today.  May is probably my favorite month out of the whole year.  I love watching the colors suddenly explode.  There is a wind blowing today, and you can smell all the flowering trees at once wherever you go.  Our garden is getting better by degrees each year, and the berry bushes are thriving.  We take Ferdy out in the grass sometimes and let him run around.  He likes to snuffle about for a while, then always ends up nosing around in our clothing.

I've had a writing surge lately, and am hoping to finish my first draft of Violet Shadows by early June.  Then comes the rewriting and editing process.  I'm hoping to publish in the autumn again, around October sometime if all goes well and my characters don't decide to do something outlandish out of the blue.  On Saturday I'm taking part in a book fair with the Libraries of Stevens County.  It's being held at the golf course.  A good venue, but it does feel a little strange after last summer to be going up there in a capacity that doesn't involve serving beer.

To Tweet Or Not To Tweet

I know Twitter is old news.  I have become painfully aware of late that for an author peddling their wares to not have a Twitter account is becoming nearly as rare as writing on papyrus.  In exploring online marketing tools for writers I have come across a growing number of sites offering to spread the word about your book or your website.  "Just tweet your info to..."

I don't want to!

Why am I feeling so rebellious on this subject?  It's hard to say exactly.  Partly, I suppose I am just old-fashioned, though there are other reasons.  As it is, there are so many tools available for book promotion that I have to make myself stop, or the next novel would never be written and I would lose myself in web pages and end up stuck in an author's cafe somewhere tangled in karmic chains.  (By the way, karmic chains are wonderful things, but they can get distracting.)  So the first reason is:

1. Time, obviously, and complication.

2. I'm turning into more and more of a hermit.  Oh, I love people, but I also like running away from them.  I like being alone, having time to think, and I find that I'm much nicer in company if I've spent a nice long day on my own ahead of time.  I realize the days of the reclusive writer are over, but this blog and a Facebook page are relatively easy to avoid if avoidance is required for my peace of mind.  But the more connected to the world I become, the more I long sometimes to rid myself of it all and run away somewhere, perhaps the Channel Islands, to scrawl novels with pen and ink, possibly on papyrus.

3. I have a crippling fear of turning into one of those people who tweet uncomfortably personal details of their lives, or stuff that's just plain boring.  Would I, for lack of subject, end up tweeting every time I trim my fingernails or find something spoiled in the back of the refrigerator?  Doubtful, perhaps, but terrifying to contemplate.

4. I'm mulishly stubborn, often about the most pointless things, but I get a considerable amount of satisfaction out of not giving in.  What is the the point of this free will of mine if I don't use it?

These may all be very feeble reasons, but there they are.  Anyone with any arguments for or against please feel free to comment.

Dear People Who Follow My Blog,


I must apologize for my long delay.  That last post kind of took all the blogging energy out of me for a little while.  That, and I've been concentrating on the new novel and the dancing and really neglecting everything else.  We have a show coming up next week, so I've been writing in the mornings and then tearing off to rehearse like mad.  The consequent pile of sweat and bandaids and sore muscle rub which is myself does not feel much like blogging.  But rehearsals have turned the corner from the "it's going to be an epic disaster" phase, and are now on to the euphoric "it's all coming together" phase, and that's splendid!


So last night, a little after midnight, after a long, convoluted dream that seemed to go on forever...I got up to make breakfast.  I don't know why.  I remember looking at the clock, but the numbers didn't register.  My brain just said, "make breakfast" so I did...well, started to anyway.  I'd just embarked on the toasting and the slicing when Aaron walked into the kitchen and asked what I was doing.  I paused, knife in hand, said, "making breakfast" like it was the obvious thing, and then looked at the clock.  I was awake enough at that point to understand what the numbers were trying to tell me, and shamefacedly set down the knife and returned to bed.  And now I know what I would be like as a zombie.  I'd be the zombie you find in your kitchen in the middle of the night frying brains in an iron skillet.


Speaking of zombies, I must offer my congratulations to Victoria Dunn, of the awesomely snarky blog Handmade By Mother (the link should be on the right side of my page) who has recently scored a publishing contract with the Canadian publisher The Workhorsery, for her novel, Alice Hearts Welsh Zombies.  I'm not always up for the zombie craze, but this is a book I will be buying.  After all, it takes place in Wales, and involves bog-snorkling!


Cheers!

Giveaways and Such

For those who haven't noticed the nifty little widget to the right of this page, I am doing a giveaway through Goodreads for three signed copies of Ashford.  It's a good way to maybe get your hands on one if you're interested but aren't sure about shelling out the cash.  Signing up with Goodreads is pretty easy if you aren't already (I wasn't until just recently, being rather behind the times) and it's a great way to find out what's going on with your favorite authors and discover new ones.


Making progress on the new novel, though I'm not far enough along to share any real details yet.  Hopefully soon!

Juliette Greco

I've recently become obsessed with the music of Juliette Greco.  She has such an amazing voice.  Right now she's helping calm my nerves as I prepare for the book launch this afternoon.

Just a quick post to let everyone know that Ashford is officially available online at the link below.  Amazon.com is currently pending, but it should be available there shortly, also available by request in your local bookstores and libraries.  Anyone who requests it shall have my undying gratitude, and if you come to Chewelah I'll make you fresh-brewed espresso and home-made tiramisu.  Tired now.  It has been a very long but productive day, and I intend to leave my book-launch preparations for tomorrow and go downstairs to enjoy a cup of hot cocoa and somebody else's brilliant prose.

https://www.createspace.com/3695713

Publishing and Other Odds and Ends

Okay...do I remember how to blog?  It really has been a while, but September has been a very busy month.  I know, excuses, excuses.  But in all honesty, since the last time I posted plenty of things have happened: my sister broke her ankle, I went to Portland to visit her, my husband got a new job, and I wriggled my way through the preliminary steps of publishing Ashford, among other things.


Yes, I'm self-publishing.  A controversial move, but much less so than in the past.  At this point it can't do me any harm, and might do me some good.  The manuscript had been edited and re-edited multiple times, by others and myself, and was starting to build a little fan base.  It's time for it to exist in another form, and it's time for me to learn how to market it.


From the back cover:

Seventeen year old Anna is a naive American orphan, delighted to find herself on a tour of Europe in the spring of 1939.  A feeling of camaraderie with all mankind thrills her as she mingles with throngs of foreigners, but her joy is short-lived.  WWII shatters the world.  As fathers and sons, husbands and brothers dive grimly into the trenches, Anna is left stranded in England, disillusioned and afraid.  However, this worldwide catastrophe may be the perfect catalyst to mature Anna into the brave young woman she longs to be.  Even as the world is shadowed with disaster, Anna finds friends in the kindly Bertram family.  In the midst of all that threatens to tear her world apart, will she find a place to truly belong?

My thanks to Megan Andrews for the back cover description.

The golf season is winding down, and I have to say (surprise!) that I'm ready for it to be over.  It's been a good experience over all, but it's not my world.  People look at me when I speak, and it's like they don't understand the language.  In all fairness, I probably look the same when they start talking about golf.  That world and mine are like oil and vinegar (to borrow a phrase from Anthony Trollope).  Not to say that mine is better or theirs worse.  They just don't fit.

Prologue To a Busy Day

Greetings at the beginning of a very full day.  This morning: finishing off a going-away gift for my good friend who is leaving for college next week, baking a batch of croissants as a thank-you gift for a certain very generous favor (and, incidentally, for breakfast tomorrow), getting a decent start on the next chapter of my novel so that tomorrow when I have more time and concentration I can delve directly into the next tragedy which will propel the plot forward and in which I shall not have any sentences this long or confusing.  This afternoon: demonstrating for a ballet class full of brand new adorable urchins, helping my mom set up her Etsy shop, going back for my own ballet class and staying late for photos, after which I shall come home and gratefully fall into bed.


At least I'm hoping to get all of that done today.  I make no promises.  The novel is coming along nicely these days, and I think my new-found dedication is starting to pay off.  There are still some days where I write only very little, don't like that very little and delete it the next day, but I try to tell myself that those days are as much a part of the process as the productive ones.


Lately I've taken to reading Robin McKinley's blog.  Check it out at www.robinmckinley.com if you're interested.  I've always loved her writing, whether it's her YA work (Beauty, Dragonhaven) or her more adult stuff (the wonderful and unsettling Deerskin, or Sunshine).  It's fantasy with real literary merit.  In any case, she blogs daily -- which in itself is impressive to me -- about life in general, which for her often involves raising hounds, ringing handbells, gardening, chasing bats out of her attic, and writing of course.  I find it delightful.


Just to let everybody know, I have changed my settings to allow for comments from readers who are not officially followers of my blog.  I didn't do this at first because I was trying to avoid spam, but I do enjoy comments and I like feedback, so I changed the settings so that anybody can leave a comment but I have to approve it before it posts.  Hopefully this will help.


Cheers!

A Returned Sense of Purpose

Returning to real life after the PNWA Conference is always a bit squiffy for me. (Yes, I am aware that "squiffy" is not a word.  But it should be.)  Four days of concentrated writing, the society of other writers, writing workshops, featured speakers on writing...it's lovely.  Writers are their own kind of weird, and I think that's the thing that helps me the most every year.  It's a companionable weirdness, a solidarity, and it encourages me that I'm not alone in this obsession with words and stories.  Writers may be famously introverted and depressed, but those things considered they are very encouraging people.  I never feel any sense of competition.  Everybody wants everybody else to succeed, because if they succeed it means you can too.  Also, it's one of very few places where you can mention having arguments with your characters or reading the dictionary for fun without being branded a psycho.


So once again I've returned to the real world, but I hope I've carried a piece of that atmosphere back with me, and through contact with writer friends met there I will keep hold of it throughout the year to come.  The biggest thing I came away with this year was a new sense of determination and discipline in my writing.  This is what I've wanted since I was a little girl.  Only I can make it happen.  Also, in going through old manuscripts the other day I realized that I am currently working on my sixth novel.  What matter that the first four I wouldn't dream of showing to anyone?  Those were practice, and I never have to write that terrible "first novel" again.  Hurrah!

The Next Step

My rewrite is finished, and two copies of the manuscript have been printed and given to two new readers.  One step closer.  Now I have to start working up my nerve for the really difficult part: the selling.  I like doing signings.  You don't have to talk much, besides smiling and saying "thank you" or "what name should I put on it?".  When my mom and I were actively working at selling An Amazing Alphabetic Anthology, we went several times to speak to a second grade class in Spokane.  The teacher had discovered our book herself and loved it.  She had several copies in her classroom and three years running she had us come in and talk to her class.  That was lovely, but it was especially nice because it wasn't just me alone.  Also, the kids were fantastic.  The first time we did it we didn't really know what to expect, and the two other authors who were there had perfectly planned presentations worked up.  We started out just talking about the book, but the kids had so many questions (really intelligent questions too) about it that we just turned it into a Q & A session, and they loved it.  Then another year the teacher had the second-graders pair up with the fifth-graders and each took a letter of the alphabet and made up their own stories.  The Chewelah elementary schools did something very similar.  I have four books, put together by the kids with their own illustrations, inspired by our book.  I've seldom felt so proud, or so honored.  Now, if I could get into doing things like that for my novel, I would be so pleased.


On another note, my ballet teacher has been working on choreography for a new piece (one that we're all very excited about) and has asked me to design costumes for it.  Talking to her about the music and the particular feel of the piece, it sounds as though we have a very similar vision for it, which is splendid.  It's amazing how well the process flows when you're in tune in that way and you're not just trying to match your design to someone else's vision.  I can't wait to start working on them.

Thoughts On a Rainy Wednesday Evening

I have decided to commence a massive rewrite of Ashford as a summer project, so this morning I tore quite ruthlessly into chapter one.  I think I've had the necessary distance from it to look at the thing a little more objectively now, so we'll see how it goes.  I am not, however, finding it any easier to cope with scathing critiques, particularly when they contradict each other.  And not, I don't think, because I can't accept criticism.  I've had critiques before from people who didn't like everything about the manuscript, who thought this or that could stand to be changed, improved, or simply taken out, but last week brought two reviews from separate individuals, both of whom clearly (and rather nastily) had very poor opinions of just about every aspect of my writing.  One claimed I didn't describe things enough.  The other insisted that I spent far too much time on the descriptions, even going so far as to say, quite spitefully, "it's no wonder the description is good, considering how much time is spent on it."


I am trying to take these conflicting opinions as gracefully as possible without letting them discourage me.  After all, a good friend, (who has, by the way, great taste in literature in general) read it through, then started again, reading it aloud to her younger sister, who then had to read it a second time herself.  Surely if she'd been thinking only of not hurting my feelings she wouldn't have felt the need to be quite so enthusiastic.  They are both in love with Perry now.  Not that I blame them.  I'm quite fond of him myself.


So I'm going back to the beginning and scrutinizing every sentence, determined to weed out cliches and unnecessary adjectives, knowing that I won't please everyone, but doing my best to please those whose opinion is most important: the would-be reader whose vision sees what I have feebly tried to show.


It's been a chilly wet day, but I'm cozy inside, wrapped in a blanket, listening to the combined sounds of rain on the roof and Aaron practicing for his album release party.  He recently completed his first album, and we're hoping to schedule a release soon.

Dancing, Other Stuff, And More Dancing

Finally, a day that feels like Spring!  It's been such an odd year.  Generally it's fairly safe here to plant your garden after May 1, but we've had frost at least three nights a week until this one.  Then today it's been in the 70s and gorgeous.


I have at last finished my work for the costuming, (I think) with two weeks left until the show.  This may sound like cutting it close, but I have known years of being sewn in the dressing room on performance day, so I feel pretty good about it.  We're having photos taken the next three days, then we're doing two of our pieces for another dance group's show this Friday, so I'll be in slicked-back dancer mode, going through copious amounts of hairspray, until Saturday, then of course again next weekend.  Then I'll wish I could do it all over again.  Not the hairspray and the slicking so much, but the dancing certainly.  I'll try to get some of the photos up on here as soon as I get my hands on them.


The writing has rather taken a back seat to all this lately, but things have been moving in my head, so I'd like to think that once life slows down again I'll be ready with a rush of inspired prose.  The PNWA Conference is coming up in August, and I'd like to have something more to show for my year's work before then, but we shall see.  I do still, at least, have a complete novel to peddle.


Side note: yes, I have been raving endlessly about Alicia Alonso and the Cuban Ballet, but I do so with reason.  I searched and searched for a DVD of one of their performances, and at last came up with their 2007 performance of Don Quixote in Paris.  I own two performances of Don Quixote: this one, and Baryshnikov's.  Notwithstanding Baryshnikov's undeniable charisma, and the excellence of American Ballet Theatre, I have to say the Cuban production is by far my favorite of the two.  The two leads dance with a wonderful passion and obvious enjoyment, and the same extends to the corps, who have much more meaty dancing roles in this performance.  If there is one ballet DVD worth owning and watching over and over again, it would be this own.  It amazes me every time.

Fragments

So... I am supposed to be going over my synopsis (again) today.  In fact, I have it up in its window, and I have been working on it, but my mind is continually distracted this morning by a number of other things, only the first having any bearing on synopsis-writing.


1. I hate writing the synopsis! All of my positive comments on last year's critiques were about the actual writing sample.  Nearly all of the negative ones were about the synopsis, mostly regarding how there wasn't enough information in it.  However, that was a two-page synopsis of a 210-page novel.  This year they have shortened the required length to one page, so I must cut things short and expound on them at the same time.


2. Pliny the Elder informed me this morning that women in his day used beer foam as a cosmetic.  To do what exactly?  He doesn't say.


3. I am taking advantage of my day off to wear an impractically pouffy skirt.  This makes me want to bounce, twirl, cavort, and do any number of other equally juvenile things.  It also brings on odd looks in the grocery store, but I'm getting used to that when I wear anything that isn't made of denim.


4. My trip to the grocery store took longer than it should have, partly because of the man who had to tell me all about how he almost didn't get out of his driveway this morning, and then about how he hit a deer with his wife's car.  Poor man, I'm very sorry for you but I was only trying to pick out brussels sprouts.  Apparently I was examining said brussels sprouts in a sympathetic manner.


5. Ballet videos on YouTube.  Pathetic I know, but I seriously can't get enough of Kenneth MacMillan's choreography.  The man was a genius with movement.


6. My hair wants cutting.


7. Blueberry bagels are delicious.




Anyway, somewhere in the midst of all these thoughts (as well as many others not mentioned here) I did manage to work out my synopsis, and it really was a good lesson in word economy, though I still have my doubts about some parts.  I'll have to go back tomorrow after I've been away from it for a little while.


 

Monday Morning Wanderings

Today I am determined to be productive.  The deadline for the PNWA contest is coming up on the 17th (received by, not postmarked -- thanks Colleen for the reminder) and I must revamp my synopsis for Ashford again before I send it in.  I am a little hesitant to send it this year, as I've sent it already two years running, but my scores and critiques were better last year than the year before, and I want to give it one more chance.  But because I'm submitting the same one again, I would like to get the current project sendable as well.  However, it still needs both a complete synopsis and a title, which I find to be the two most difficult things to produce.  I am also determined to send off at least one more query today, and I need to make a run up to Colville to find supplies for headpieces for Flower Festival.

So now I am up in the study, listening to the new album Intriguer by Crowded House (yes I'm going through a Crowded House phase, don't judge me) and alternating between this blog, the query, and the new novel.  It still needs a title.  Grrrr...  It's extra confusing because personal preference is such a big part of publishing.  Apart from the obvious things such as spelling and punctuation, so much of your success or failure depends on choosing the right person to send it to, someone who shares some part of your vision.  Last year at PNWA's summer conference, I was able to talk briefly (in completely star-struck fashion) to Andre Dubus III after his speech.  It was a book signing, and we were all waiting in line for our chance to get his autograph.  It was completely worth the wait.  He took time with everyone, asked each of us what our books were about, and wrote little personalized notes rather than just signing his name.  Anyway, when he came to me, he asked what my book was about, so I told him.  Then he asked what the title was.  When I said Ashford, he said, "Great title!"  So that was, you know, awesome.  Then the next day I had a meeting with an agent.  I gave her my pitch.  She wrinkled her nose and said she didn't like the title.  So often it feels like you're putting together an especially confusing jigsaw puzzle -- the kind where it's all sky and about twenty pieces look like they should fit, but only one of them really does.  I'm sure when you find the piece that fits it's a glorious moment, but meanwhile trying everything that looks possible feels a lot like trying to find matching socks at 5 AM when it's dark and you don't want to turn on the light and wake your husband but you have to go to work.

Setting

Today, as an after-Christmas treat, I have fled Chewelah in favor of the anonymity offered by the local metropolis.  Protected by this anonymity, I can write undisturbed for several hours without being distracted either by familiar faces or by the variety of household chores which I ought to be doing.


The setting is important: the Chocolate Apothecary, a coffee shop specializing in gourmet chocolate, where you can find such gems as dark chocolate tiles with sea salt and ginger, or chocolate-covered passion-fruit caramels.  It was here that I discovered the surprisingly delicious paring of dark chocolate with wasabi.  More importantly, it is quiet, with a good variety of background music, a high table in the corner, and cappuccinos offered in real cups to go with the chocolate of your choice.  It is the perfect place to forget about real life and focus on whatever other life you are currently inventing.


I have one hour left on my parking meter.  So back to the novel I go.

Writing

Finally things are starting to move on the new project.  I always go through a phase after I finish one thing and before I start another, when I start thinking I will never be able to write again.  I should be used to it by now.  I guess it makes sense.  I spent three years with Anna and Perry, the Bertrams and the Beauforts, learning their stories and figuring out how to tell them.  Now I have to get to know a whole new set of characters.  I finally feel like I had a breakthrough last night though.  I was about to drift off to sleep when it came.  ALWAYS keep scraps of paper and an assortment of pens on the nightstand.


Now I think I can make some headway, and it's all thanks to Jenny.

Life as a Novel

I like to think of life as a novel.  You write it, in a way, as you would a novel.  It has a beginning, a middle, and an end.  It's full of wacky characters, some of whom are so unique that if you wrote them into actual fiction no one would find them believable.  You choose whether to be the protagonist of your own life, or to stand by as a supplementary character while somebody else commands the stage and directs the course of the story.  You can be the hero or the villain, or merely a sidekick or flunky.  You may create an outline, but more often than not, the plot changes as the characters grow and change.  (At least, this regularly happens to me.  I do know some people who keep strictly to their outlines, but my characters nearly always change their minds about what they want to do at the last moment without consulting me.  And they are generally right.)


As in a novel, there are things that might happen, things that perhaps should have happened, things that you regret, but the trick is to make what does happen the best, the most satisfying it can be, even if, or especially if, it pulls at the heartstrings a little.


Most importantly, I think, you choose how the novel is written.  The same basic plot can be interpreted in so many different way.  It is because of the genius of Charles Dickens that the end of A Tale of Two Cities is a triumphant one.  Had he written it differently but kept the basic story the same, Sidney's death could have been a pointless thing, one more pointless tragedy in a particularly messy time in human history.  As it is, it is one of the most triumphant moments in literature, which actually makes it more heartbreaking.


Just a thought.

So, I recently unearthed a partially completed manuscript, abandoned a number of years ago.  It was the last manuscript I wrote by hand, which would explain why it survived the tragic deaths of two laptops which perished during that time, taking other half-baked ideas with them.  (I really must learn from my mistakes and save back-up copies.)


I know enough now to realize that the story would never survive the publishing world of today.  The protagonist is entirely too contented, the setting too picturesque, and I have a feeling that ragged-yet-cheerful gypsies with hurdy-gurdys and hearts of gold are on their way out as popular characters.  It makes absolutely no sense to finish it, and no doubt that's why I abandoned it at the time... but there's something in it, a freshness and innocence, that I can't help wanting to recapture, and I think the characters are impatient with me for not finishing their stories.  I may have to complete it anyway, if only for its own sake.  And you never know... 


I did recently stumble across a novel at the dollar store, which manages to smash together about five genres somehow, as well as ripping off the plots of at least three popular novels at once, with healthy doses of time-travel, sex, kilts, and rock 'n' roll, not to mention poor writing.  Yes, I might be a little bitter, but somebody published it!  Yes, it was at the dollar store, but first somebody had to read it and think, "This is good stuff.  Let's print it!"


So perhaps it means there is hope for me after all.  Or it means I shall have to resort to writing bodice-rippers to pay the bills.  Or I shall keep my dignity and work at Flowery Trail until I die.

Foiled Intentions

I had every intention of sitting down today and writing something profound.  Then, every semblance of profundity fled my mind.  Now I am left with the chilly knowledge that all I have to write about is the fact that my Jane Austen action figure has lost her torso.  I imagine she was hacked in half by one of Seth Grahame-Smith's zombies.



The new novel is progressing quite slowly, though I like to think that's because it's still in the developmental, thinking stage at present.  The old (meaning finished in February) novel is still in the peddling stage, and probably will be for some time.  Hoping to get it sent out to a batch of agents sometime in the next couple of weeks.


So, nothing profound at this time, but I'm still getting used to this.  I can't seem to figure out why my words keep getting broken in half at the ends of lines.  In any case, it's a work in progress.